


It Doesn't Care

by WishingIHadSocks



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: A levels, Alcohol, College AU, Depression, Grantaire has bad depression, M/M, Reference to self harm, Slow Build, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, basically grantaire needs a friend and enjolras is there for him, brief mention of anxiety, failing, more friendship than romance, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2491085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WishingIHadSocks/pseuds/WishingIHadSocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Because it doesn’t matter that he attempted suicide thrice in the past six months. It doesn't matter that his skin is marked red over fifty times. His parents ‘care’ and he has everything he needs so he should shut the fuck up and stop trying to find drama."</p><p>Grantaire struggles with failing his first year of college and his first year with crippling depression. Enjolras is the friend he needs but wont reach out to because he feels his "rich boy problems" aren't worth it.<br/>Or the AU where Grantaire didn't have a shitty up bringing but is struggling with depressed because sometimes that just happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Doesn't Care

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago and figured I'd procrastinate and finish it off and post it. Basically most fics have Grantaire struggling with depression mostly due to the shittiness of his general situation and I thought it would be interesting to have a situation where Grantaire has a seemingly easy life and doesn't understand that depression just happens sometimes regardless to situations.

Grantaire sits alone, a bottle of Bourbon in one hand and an unlit cigarette shaking in his other. The amber liquid stings his tongue; it burns on his lips and for a moment he’s tempted to throw it back up. But he square’s his shoulders and downs more mouthfuls like it was cherry vodka, like he has something to prove to nobody watching.

He lights the cigarette now hanging from his numbing lips and takes a soothing drag. The smoke scratches at his lungs; he holds it in too long and he begins to splutter, blowing the smoke back out in one big cloud. A few more drags and he’s making smoke rings because he’s getting bored just sat on the drive and he loves the way they look. When the butt is too small he stumps it out through a hole in his jeans and hisses as the ash burns his skin.

He’s been lucky, dammit, he _is_ lucky. So why doesn’t he feel like that? Why is his life so hard for him to accept when the people down the street would kill the man stood before them if it gave them the life that he hated so much? He wants the answers, he needs them too.

Suddenly he’s frustrated and mad at himself and hell, he’s just plain angry. The bottle that he had drained flies from his hand and smashes against a tree. He wants to get away from his house. He wants to find somebody that cares. Does he even have anyone that will?

The truth is Grantiare’s problems get written off a ‘rich boys problems’. He doesn’t have abusive parents nor is he struggling to get by. His house is nice and his parents are happily married and care, half the people he knows are in a worse off position but they’re still happy, they’re still functioning.

They care. But they don’t understand. He has parents that want to spend all the free time they can with him. But it doesn’t stop the hateful shouting and the bitter words. It doesn’t stop him slamming the door as he storms out after another one of his and his father’s rows.

Because it doesn’t matter that he attempted suicide thrice in the past six months. It doesn’t matter that his skin is marked red over fifty times. His parents ‘care’ and he has everything he needs so he should shut the fuck up and stop trying to find drama.

He feels sick, he wants to shout it out and he wants to tell the whole fucking world “Hey look at me I’m fucked up and I need help! Please don’t ignore me because I could have it worse!” but he knows he sounds like a whiny rich kid.

“I can’t do this mum, I can’t do this anymore” He had cried after one attempt. He never told her what he had tried to do, he just cried and shook and tried to explain everything else. She sat on the sofa across from him.  
                “Stop lying. You’re pretending to cry” She told him.  
“I’m not mum! Look at me! Help me. Why won’t you help me?” His voice cracked with tears and despair and he just wanted someone to hold him, he wanted her to help him.  
                All he got was “Grantaire, me and your dad work hard to provide for you. You have life when others fight so hard for theirs, stop complaining and feeling sorry for yourself. It’s pathetic.”

He never told anyone else. He loved his friends and he was always the first to laugh and the first to joke with them. He didn’t blame them for not knowing. He couldn’t help a small part being annoyed at them, for he knew that every time he even slightly mentioned his life and how he hated it, a small part of them would want to tell him that he could have it worse.

 He had thought he was getting better. Despite the recent fucked up events to happen to him he had been in surprisingly high spirits. Even when he opened his A Level results and scored UUEE, even though he’d failed everything- even art that he wanted to do more than anything. He laughed and smiled and was happy for his friends who had all looked at him with pity and had mostly passed with flying colours. Even Eponine who’d lost her brother and her parents were disgusting, even Jehan whose parents were religious nut jobs that wanted him gone for being gay.

His dad had told him to keep his chin up, they’d sort it out.  His mum had hugged him and told him at least he made it to results day. It was a good day, people cared. His parents weren’t like Courfeyrac’s whose high achieving parents had demanded to know why their son had achieved sweeping D’s.

He would re sit the year, nothing to worry about. He would be a year behind everyone, he wouldn’t get to have a gap year and to top it off he might not even get onto the university courses he wants. Why did he have to be so fucking stupid?

Hot tears roll from his eyes and he wipes at them. He needs someone to talk to. Anyone really would do. And as if on a schedule his phone beeps and a bitter and short laugh escape, sounding a bit too much like a sob. His phone’s bright screen pierces his drunken blurry eyes. He double takes and stares at the screen that proudly proclaimed he had a text message from the one and only Apollo.

 **_9.34pm, Enjolras:_ ** _How are you? I’m worried, no one has heard from you._

Just a pity text, an ‘I feel kinda bad so I’ll check up on you’ text. Not a real one. But he had to reply anyway, it was rude not to.  It’s not like he had ignored several other messages, which were roughly the same, off his other friends.

 **_9.38pm, Grantaire:_ ** _Fine and dandy oh dear Apollo. Just sat with the stars trying to wonder whf  
 **9.40pm:** Shit sorry, fuck. I hit send too quickly. Fuck I can’t do anything right. I’m a ficking mess I just I cant what Im sorry im so srry appolo please just duck._

His grammar was appalling and his spelling even worse and the beauty of auto correct had censored the ending. Grantaire is drunk and on his third cigarette and, quite frankly, still trying to figure if he is actually holding the phone the right way up.

 ** _9.45pm, Enjolras:_** _Fuck, R, are you drunk?  
 **9.46pm, Grantaire:** When an I not? Are you blonde? Do the stars shin in the sky?_  
 ** _9.47pm, Enjolras:_** _Are you alone? Where are you?_  
 **9.48pm, Grantaire:** Me and my bush polly are friends we are beasties now we sit on my drive and we drink like right now thanks Apollo

He’s being stupid, he’s trying to wind him up because annoying that blonde beauty is the only thing he can seem to do. But the replies had been coming pretty quick and now they’ve stopped. With an arm slung around Polly he pushes his face into the uncomfortable branches, telling himself he doesn’t give a fuck. 

He thinks he’s falling asleep when his phone beeps again.  
 ** _9.59pm, Enjolras:_** _Don’t move. I’m coming now._

This is when R knows he’s far too drunk. A whole bottle to himself was too much. He’s hallucinating, he must be. Enjolras doesn’t care. Why would he come for him? Why would he check on him?

However the little red car owned by his godly friend slowly pulls up his drive. Before Enjolras even gets the chance to get out the car, Grantaire throws himself into the empty passenger seat. “I need to get away from here” He tells the driver “Please Enjolras, please just take me somewhere else and we can talk ok?”

So he does. The drive is silent and Enjolras keeps stealing worried glances at his friend, as Grantaire pushes his head against the cold window and mutters words they both can’t quite hear.

When Enjolras finally pulls up it’s too dark for Grantaire to really see where they are but he assumes they’re by the park. Enjolras’ hand rests on his slumped shoulders. “Hey,” he speaks softly and it’s the first time he’s spoken since he arrived to pick R up “Grantaire, are you ok?”  
                “That’s a pretty dumb question Apollo.” Grantaire snorts “I thought you were smart?” the bitterness in his tone causes the other boy to remove his hand and to stare coldly out of the windshield.  
“Yeah well, I thought you were going to be positive about this whole situation”  
                “Positive? Enjolras I _failed_.  Big time as well, no matter how you stretch my results they’re pitiful. They just prove how fucking worthless I am.” He spits each word like he’s acting in a Shakespearean play and Enjolras turns to him, unable to think of how to comfort his friend. “I can’t even do art anymore. They won’t let me resit.”  
“There are other options. You could do a BTEC Diploma in art instead, get into Uni that way. Grantaire there’s other solutions.” His voice is gentle and his warm hand returns to its previous spot.

Grantaire’s laugh is sharp and hard and for the second time in an hour it sounds more like a sob and Enjolras is so close to just hugging his friend because he wants everything to be ok. “This isn’t fair” he breathes and the god is leaning closer to hear him “This isn’t my fault. I’m fucked up I’m so fucked up” he’s on a verge of a panic attack and Enjolras dives into desperately trying to calm him down but it’s not working. The English weather makes an appearance as the skies open and the clouds cry as Grantaire lurches from the car and sprints across the road, disappearing into the night. Leaving Enjolras to swear under his breath and head after him.

Grantaire isn’t sure how long he’s been running, or even why he is trying to run away. It wont solve anything, he can't run into the past and work harder, he is literally just getting colder and wet with each meter he rus. The cold rain and the piercing winds sober him up and Grantaire is faced with the throbbing headache he isn’t sure is being welcomed by sobriety or the cold. He finds a tree in some field and he slumps beside it. Letting his head fall back into the bark and his fingers splay into the grass. He can vaguely feel his phone buzzing but he’s tired and he’s cold and he’s miserable and he just wants to cry.

That’s exactly what he’s doing when Enjolras finds him, slumped against a tree with tears and rain rolling across his face.  He bends down next to him and wraps his arm around his shoulders. “Come on R, you’re soaked. Let’s get you back to my car, we can put the heating on. I’ll take you back to mine, my parents are out. You can borrow a change of clothes and stop over ok?” He’s careful not to pry or mention his tears. He doesn’t want him to run again. He wants him safe and warm and away from immediate danger more than he wants answers to questions he doesn’t need to ask.

He guides the shaking boy to his car, although he’s wet and cold himself, he wraps his leather jacket around him. They both get in the car and they spend a minute just allowing the hot air to blow out of the tiny vents and bring sensation back into their fingers and toes. It may be the middle of August but being out in the rain was as cold as being out in the snow.

Grantaire had not said a word. He hadn’t struggled and he hadn’t protested he’s gone along with Enjolras’ plan so the latter boy had no choice but to assume he was driving back to his house.

When they arrived Enjolras escorted Grantaire into his practically-a-mansion house and up to his bedroom. “Come on,” he says walking towards his large wardrobe “You can borrow some of my clothes, you’ll catch your death in them.”

“Let me.” Grantaire whispers “I don’t care. Besides, none of that is going to fit. Look at you Apollo, you’re tall and strong and slim and I’m wide and stocky.”

It's true, although Grantaire is actually only a few inches centimetres shorter than Enjolras, but he is a lot broader though more through muscle than fat. “Here” Enjolras says, tossing him a bundle of clothing “The sweatpants are always too big on me and the jumper’s huge, they’ll fit no worries.”

Grantaire picks up the clothing and stretches it out, it would definitely fit. Still, he makes no move to swap his waterlogged clothing for the warm dry ones. Enjolras watches him out of the corner of his eye whilst pulling out dry clothing for him to wear and disappearing into his bathroom to get changed.

Grantaire stands there, staring at the clothes. A cold shiver wracks his spine and his teeth begin to chatter despite the warmth of the house.  He’s stood in Enjolras’ room and it’s all he can think about. The amount of times he had shamefully imagine being in the room that belonged to his friend that he idolised- to the friend he was still unsure of to call friend. This was the longest they had gone alone together without arguing and Grantaire found that he liked spending time alone with Enjolras even more when they were trying to hurt each other. His gut coiled in disgust when he realised that he was only here because he looked like he’d gone for a swim in the river and was on a path to self-destruction. Enjolras was a good man, he wouldn’t let anyone carry on the way he had been, regardless  as to whether or not he liked them.  

Grantaire was pretty sure they were only friends through the rest of them, grown to become more than a friend-of-a-friend, but never quite an actual friend. All on Enjolras’ behalf of course, Grantaire had longed to mean something more to the visionary since he could remember. Sure sometimes he indulged in borderline creepy fantasies of being romantic interests, but mainly he would be happy having the same trust and commitment filled friendship he shared with Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

Not to concern Enjolras anymore, Grantaire quickly strips and attempts to get the warm clothes on before Enjolras comes back. He was only marginally successful however, as the blonde returns whilst he is still shirtless. Grantaire freezes, his arms still trying to unfold the jumper. He’s completely exposed and oh-so aware of it. Quickly he tries to pull the jumper over his head and push his arms through. It’s a tangle of limbs and clothing but the jumper is on and his torso is safely covered.

Enjolras clears his throat, “It’s getting late; you should stop here as I said. I can’t let you go home alone in this and it’s raining far too hard for me to drive.” His words hang heavy in the air and Grantaire realises how tired he really is.  
                “Thank you, just- er- just show me where to go and I’ll stop in a guest room.” Because Enjolras was the kind of rich where he had four guest rooms and Grantaire is certain he’s in the one furthest away.  
 “Don’t be stupid Grantaire. I don’t want you alone tonight. You can sleep in here.” Enjolras’ voice is soothing and it unsettles Grantaire, whom is secretly cursing Enjolras because now his plans to sneak out in the middle of the night were over.  He starts for the blankets but a hand grabs his arm. “You’re not sleeping on the floor R, just sleep with me will you? It’ll put my mind at rest.”

He’s pressed between the silk sheets before he knows it, Enjolras slipping in beside him. It’s a queen sized bed and they had enough room between them for someone else to join, but it didn’t take the edge of for Grantaire who was now in bed with the boy he idolised.

His head sinks into the pillows and he stares up at the ceiling he can barely see in the dim light. It’s oh-so-quiet and Grantaire is starting to think that the blonde has gone to sleep, until he clears his throat.

“Grantaire, just so you know… It’s going to be ok.” He whispers and there’s something about the calm reassurance that sounds so genuine to Grantaire he can’t hold what little remains together.  
                “I hate this.” He cries “I hate that I let myself down, that I’ll have to spend the next two years doing bullshit I don’t want to do. I hate that I’m in a shitty emotional place and I feel like I’ve broken into a thousand tiny pieces and I don’t know if I can ever be fixed- I don’t know if I’ll ever find them! The disappointment fucking sits in my throat and it’s a constant reminded. I feel constantly on the verge of tears and quite frankly nothing makes me happy anymore and I feel like the shittest person on the planet because so many people have it worse than me but Jesus I hate my life.” He barely pauses to breathe as he sobs his confession “quite frankly I want it to end.”

The dark room is silent for a second that seems to drag into days. Grantaire feels stupid. He’s barely friends with Enjolras and here he is pouring out his heart to him. When Enjolras does finally speak he asks “Is that what those marks are, the ones that are all over your arms and body?” Grantaire holds his breath.  
                “Yes.”  He barely says the words and Enjolras has rolled over to engulf him in a bone crushing hug.

“No matter your situation, no matter if you’re rich or poor, straight or gay, black or white. Depression is like cancer. It doesn’t look at your family dynamic, it doesn’t take into consideration your race or gender or economical stature. Depression happens to people and sometimes we just don’t know why. You’re a good man Grantaire and just because you don’t have the hardest life doesn’t make your illness an easy battle and it doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to feel this way ok?” Enjolras sounds as though he’s on the verge of tears and Grantaire sobs into his golden curls. “You mean so much to me Grantaire. I know you don’t think I like you but if I could explain how much I love you and you could understand I would. I’m gonna be here every step of the way. We’re going to get through this ok?”

“Ok” He doesn’t know how but Enjolras has managed to say everything Grantaire needed to hear. Every doubt and every foolish thought he’s had about his friend is stricken away and all the boy can do it press his burning arms harder into him.

The room falls quiet again and the two teenage boys slowly drift to sleep wrapped around each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse the mistakes I tend to be blind when it comes to stuff like that.  
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated.  
> Also I'm thinking of making this multi-chapter with each chapter being a different stage in the new school year and R struggling with new things and Enjy helping out.  
> Let me know?
> 
> Also come say hi on tumblr wishingihadsocks (I'm on my phone so I can't do the link thing)


End file.
